


Broken Glass

by pansypxrkinson



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone is deep, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor pricefield bc come on it's pricefield, Nathan is a jerk. Until he's not, Not really heavy angst though, POV Third Person, Rating May Change, The first chapter could be read as gen but the others are not, crude language bc nathan is an ass, there's enough of that crap in canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansypxrkinson/pseuds/pansypxrkinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Prescott was a hot mess, and Warren Graham was going to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot Mess

Nathan Prescott was fidgeting again.  
He always did that.

‘Click, click. Click, click’  
The lighter chimed, the tiny flame flickering in and out of existence.  
It was starting to get annoying, although the flame illuminated everything in its vicinity with a dusky glow that was rather beautiful.

‘That’s a sweet photo op!’ Max’s voice echoed in Warren’s head and he grinned to himself.  
Nathan’s hands trembled for a second and the lighter nearly fell from fumbling fingers. Warren felt a flicker of irritation. Death by fire was not an experience Warren wanted to suffer through.

He watched as Nathan lent back on his chair, hands behind his head and feet crossed at the ankles.  
Yes, Warren had once again, embarked on his favourite hobby of all. 

Nathan watching. 

Warren seemed to have a strange, (and rather embarrassing) fascination with the boy. Something that he couldn’t explain. 

Nathan was an enigma, the human embodiment of a train wreck you can’t help but stare at. Similar to those old horror movies Warren stayed addicted to purely for their shock factor.  
He had an unnerving quality about him. Something wild and unpredictable, and this trait had Warren completely and utterly invested.

Every so often he would laugh a little too loud, his breaths a little too shallow. Nathan never smiled, he only dealt out grimaces to his Vortex clones.  
His movements were quick and jolted, and of a twitchy disposition, like a mouse avoiding its predators. He looked fearful, as if tormented by something, and Warren was hooked on the mystery. 

He was a hot mess.

Light burst through the blinds at the window, falling in diagonal lines against the boy, as if it were framing Nathan’s face. Dust particles danced in the hot afternoon breeze.

Shaking fingers ripped open a packet of cigarettes. Clasped between two fingers, he took a drag, sinking down further into his chair, as if he could truly disappear and while he appeared so calm, so calculating. He was not.

He was fire disguised as ice. 

He was glaring at Warren again. 

That usually happened in English class. The lighter continued to flicker into and out of disappearance as the teacher gave a disapproving glance in Nathan’s general direction. That’s all she could do. She couldn’t say anything to a Prescott.  
Warren thought even Nathan was bowing under the weight of his family name.

And so the flame from the lighter continued to char the wooden desk.  
The cigarette continued to disappear and reappear through bitten, chapped lips and Nathan’s fingers raked through hair that seemed to fall in every possible direction.  
The other hand still trembled as it drummed the desk relentlessly.

Nathan Prescott was a hot mess, and Warren Graham was going to find out why.


	2. Puppet Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The caricature of normal. Warren's been through enough shit to understand the porcelain smiles and puppet strings hiding behind a person.  
> He doesn't fear Nathan, he's just another broken boy. 
> 
> A broken boy with sharp edges.

It's quiet in the locker rooms after sport. Nearly everyone has left for their dorms, save for a rather shifty Nathan Prescott and Warren, who would rather wait until his face has departed that embarrassing tomato red colour that comes with doing the least amount of physical activity humanely possible outside of sports lessons.

Nathan Prescott is humming to himself, Warren notices.  
The tune is pleasant, soft and lyrical but low.  
It's calming, a nice change to his usual stifling aura.

Warren eyes the boy with envy, he's never tomato red in the face. Warren smirks to himself, he bets that would violate the perfect Prescott contract.

Nathan's hair is infuriatingly messy, and yet it looks perfectly toussled. Beads of sweat, travel down the nape of his neck, and his cheeks are nothing more than lightly rosy.  
Damn, if only he didn't have such a damn ugly personality.

Warren laughs at his own audacity. If someone had told him last year than he would be obsessing over Nathan Prescott in the boys locker room, he would have laughed himself sick.

But if Warren has one thing then it's logic and he wouldn't dream of partaking in some sort of (dear god), relationship! Regardless of the fact that the chances of that would be almost as infinitesimally small as Warren dating Ms Grant

Most beautiful things are made to be looked at but not touched.

Nathan freezes suddenly, fumbling in his pockets, full to burst with crumpled up notes and hastily written messages.  
He doesn't know what he's doing but it looks important.

Nathan Prescott is almost frantic, Warren snorts bitterly to himself. How could anyone admire him?

Why does Warren admire him?

Warren knows the type, fingernails bitten to the quick, money incarnate, he's suffocating in himself. Who does he think he's kidding. Does he think they'll believe his facade?

The caricature of normal. Warren's been through enough shit to understand the porcelain smiles and puppet strings hiding behind a person.  
He doesn't fear Nathan, he's just another broken boy. 

A broken boy with sharp edges.

The locker slams shut, pulling Warren out of his reverie and Nathan Prescott grabs his kit, about leave the locker room. He freezes upon seeing Warren.

"Hey Graham, been lifting any shirts lately?  
God, you're such a freak"

Warren ignores him. 

'Let him talk shit, and be thankful you don't have to suffer like he does'.

"Why the fuck are you still staring at me?"  
There's fear in his eyes. That's strange.

Warren thinks he's seen something he shouldn't have.  
Nathan thinks this too. 

He wonders what those cryptic torn notes meant.  
He's sure Nathan thinks he knows more than he does.

Warren decides he should stay out of Nathan's business. He's not getting tangled up in his puppet strings.

Nathan gives a harsh laugh at the lack of response.

"You're really fucking thick, Graham.  
I asked you a question."

Warren turns his back.

"Answer me."

Puppet Strings

"Ohh I get it...trying to get a good look at me undressing were you. I knew you were fucking sick."  
He laughs again. It's an ugly sound, loud in the harsh silence of the changing rooms.

Porcelain Smiles

"Or maybe I'm wrong, Gayram.  
Maybe..."  
He's in his element now, pausing for dramatic effect. 

Warren wonders how he'd ever though the boy beautiful. His sneer is repulsive. Vicious eyes narrowed into slits.

"Maybe, it's that slut Caulfield that you're after."

Warren tenses.

A salacious smile covers the shorter boy's face. Nathan knows he's got him.

"I bet she'd look good with her skirt hitched up around her thighs."

Broken boy

"She'd beg for it. Take a fucking picture of that."

Sharp edges

"Desperate whore."

Warren turns around so fast, he's dizzy.

"One day, Prescott you're going to break and no one will care enough to pick up the pieces,

and you'll rot.

Until all you're left with are your own nasty words and even they'll turn against you.

And I can't wait to see you shatter."

 

Warren's steps are quick, bitterness on his tongue in the shocked silence as he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this chapter is certainly a tad heavier than I expected it to be, but my brain wanted to do the thing so I went with it! I hope that's okay.
> 
> However, never fear for things will not stray darker than this. I love my nerds too much for that, canon is dark enough for me.
> 
> It was difficult to continue a fic that's structured in such a descriptive way but I tried my best. The style may be a tad different. Comments and Kudos are still very much appreciated. Thank you for the lovely feedback so far, it really helps<3


	3. Drowning

Twisting and turning in sheets that suffocated him, Nathan Prescott was drowning.

Clumsy limbs reached out to grab at something of substance, but the image, thick like smoke and dark as coal weaved its way through fingers that trembled with fear.

He could almost see. He was standing before something. Unease bit at him, and he knew admiration but also paralysing terror as what he saw before him was not his friend.

It was dominant and all consuming and Nathan could feel the wind around him. Terrified screams sent shivers down his spine.

It was real.

 

Adrenaline coursed through his veins like quicksilver, sweaty palms open as sparks like electricity leaked from his fingertips. 

If only he could see.

He needed to see clearly.

Images flickered before his eyes and vanished just as swiftly as they came.

There was darkness when Nathan Prescott opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very, very short Nathan chapter, to give you all a clue as to what is going on in his head.
> 
> Will be posting several of these short chapters to allow a glimpse into Nathan's perspective, however they will stay short and vague as this story will focus mainly on Warren's point of view. Partly because the story is about figuring out what Nathan is thinking and I don't want to detract from that.
> 
> Much longer Warren chapter to be posted right after this one.
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely messages, comments and kudos always help with motivation.<3


	4. Silhouettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He aches because of him, and his presence is all encompassing and he feels like fire.
> 
> Warren can taste smoke on his tongue, as if it's not her Nathan's kissing but Warren and he's never wanted to punch someone so badly in his entire life.

"SMASH"

"Fuck, Shit, Crap." Warren hissed and glared daggers at the bottle of sodium hydroxide that he'd just dropped all over the floor.

The crystalline powder glowed an almost ghostly white in the darkness of the science classroom, and Warren looked nervously towards the window.  
It was still dark outside.

Warren knew it was risky, but it wasn't the first time that he had snuck into the school at night. After all, Ms Grant had (rather illegally) allowed him to 'borrow' the spare key to the science classrooms. She practically wanted him to do it.

If Warren may say so himself, there were perks to being the best science student Blackwell has seen.  
Well at least in the past year...

After all, he had his reputation to uphold.  
Chemistry certainly wasn't his strong suit and he really did need the extra practice.  
Physics was more his thing.  
Chaos theory, quantum theory, matters of the Schrödinger's cat ilk.  
Theorizing about the world was a subject Warren adored. Analysing the people in it was something even more fascinating.

Warren gave a sigh as he glanced down at the shattered jar on the floor. Great. Now he'd have to stay even longer and clean up.  
At least it wasn't a Friday.  
That would've been the final nail in the coffin.

'Must focus.' He muttered to himself as he bent down to scoop up a small amount of the sodium hydroxide into a test tube that he was holding.

Although Chemistry wasn't necessarily Warren's favourite subject, he was conducting a particularly interesting experiment tonight.

Warren looked down at the instruction sheet which he had been preparing for.

'Chemiluminescence

Using sodium hydroxide, water, bleach and luminol in preparation, add a solution of sodium chlorate(I) to an aqueous solution of luminol. The sodium chlorate should oxidise the luminol and a blue chemiluminescent glow will be produced without any temperature change by the mixture.'

Ok, not too challenging then.

Although it was probably dangerous to handle corrosive, toxic or oxidizing chemicals in the dark, for fear of discovery Warren did so. At least this experiment required the lights off.

In all honesty, Warren didn't mind. The glow of the bunsen burner was comforting and chemical reactions really did appear more beautiful in darkness.

When he had finished and all the broken glass had been swept away, it was almost 2:00 in the morning.

Warren rubbed at tired eyes as he glanced out of the window.  
The things he does for science.

Outside, blindingly white and piercing, the moon had taken on a rather menacing quality and Warren half expected it to vanish before him, leaving the world in perpetual darkness.

After locking the door to the science room Warren goes to leave when he hears it.

A sigh.

But that would be ridiculous. None of the other students are in possession of the keys to the Blackwell classrooms...  
If they were Warren would have definitely noticed, given the many long winded nights of chemistry that had passed with nothing but the sound of his own company and the small hiss of gas from the bunsen burner.

Yes, it could be a teacher, but at 2:00 in the morning that would be highly unusual.  
Warren hated to admit it but he was a tad freaked out.

It was probably nothing. He was tired and he should just sneak back to the dorms before he descends into complete insanity.

A gasp.

'Too late.' He muses to himself, between bouts of disbelief and panic.

Warren stills, and quickly turns into the art room opposite. Warren is equal parts unnerved and grateful that it is open.

Giggles and hushed voices, grow louder and louder in Warren's direction and Warren, confused but not stupid, takes to hiding under the computer desk.

A slender hand, reaches for the light switch, and then seems to think better.  
Warren thinks this is wise, for he's realised exactly what is going on, over the internal screaming inside of his head and the return of tomato red face. 

Warren thinks he might just die.

Another laugh and this time from a woman and Warren thinks to himself what the fuck he expected.

 

So this was his life. Trapped at 2:00 in morning in a dark classroom, condemned to listen to Nathan Prescott making out with yet another one of his girlfriends. Warren wonders where it all went wrong, which universal humiliation God he'd pissed off.

When he'd determined to find out what Nathan was up to, this wasn't what he had in mind, no matter how attractive Nathan was.

Better yet, Warren wonders how the fuck he's going to get out of this one. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two monochrome silhouettes dance against one another. Wisps of her hair, like static fall over her face.

She's pretty, Warren observes.  
Although in all honesty he's trying not to look, even avoiding the looming shadows before him, which appear twisted and skeletal against the walls of the art room.  
This is way too pervy and all Warren wants at this moment in time is to melt into the floorboards and never get up.

He almost feels sorry for her. Although he doesn't know her by name, he recognises the face. Nathan doesn't care for her. He goes through women like he goes through those fancy brogues from that posh brand that only rich people can afford.

Warren knows she likes to feel wanted. To feel needed.

Warren thinks Nathan does too. To always own the best, to always have the best, be the best.  
He craves it. It's plain to see, almost savage in its honesty.

Out of the corner of his eye, Warren sees her hands tangle through messy brown hair.  
He knows that Nathan needs this as well.

The air is thick and there's a lump in Warren's throat born from bitterness, like he can't decide whether he's going to laugh or cry.  
The atmosphere is impermeable, Nathan's arms pull her close towards him. He's shaking and fearful.  
A ticking time bomb of anxiety,  
he can never relax.

And Warren promised himself he wouldn't do this anymore.  
Wouldn't waste his time on someone who cares nothing about him.  
Not after the confrontation in the changing rooms. 

Warren's burning. 

She cradles his face and kisses his lips, her forehead presses against his. She's careful and comforting and yet he barely reciprocates.

But occasionally he does and God, Warren's never longed for someone so deeply in his entire life. His blood pumps quicksilver in his veins and his chest tightens and even now Nathan is lost and vacant, still a broken boy.

It's this moment when Warren realises his inconceivable, irreparable obsession has a name and Warren is fucking scared.

He aches because of him, and his presence is all encompassing and he feels like fire, and Warren can taste smoke on his tongue, as if it's not her Nathan's kissing but Warren and he's never wanted to punch someone so badly in his entire life.

Nathan Prescott.  
Alternatively the worst decision Warren's ever made. He's nasty and he's fragile and he's a whole list of reasons why you shouldn't bother.  
Worst of all he is collateral damage, and when he goes down he's going to take everyone who bothers to give a toss with him.

And yes, he is a train wreck but he's not beautiful in his destruction, in his corruption.  
Warren doesn't want to see him burn.  
Doesn't want to watch him waste his life hooked on more drugs, alcohol, mindless and empty. God knows he's half way there.  
But everyone has a prime mover. Their motivator, their controller, their hell.

Warren thinks back to the crumpled notes spilling from Nathan's pockets in the changing rooms, the fear in his eyes. Defensive.

Clever.

Rile them up, so they're distracted by anger. They won't remember what they saw.  
He could curse himself for taking the bait.

The door slams violently and Warren is brought back to himself.

She left, then.

Not to be surprised. He knows Nathan. Warren hopes that he let her down gently, almost glad to have been distracted by his own thoughts.  
She deserves better than to be treated like that anyway.

They're alone now. A lone silhouette reflected in the light of the moon. Hunched shoulders, he looks gaunt in this light. If Warren didn't know better he'd say he almost looked guilt ridden.  
Warren stays hidden. He doesn't have a death wish.

Notorious cigarettes appear, the chime of the small silver lighter familiar. He takes a drag, and then a breath almost as if he's grounding himself.  
It may have been a trick of the light, but Warren could've sworn that he'd seen a lone tear slide down a flushed cheek.  
Warren wonders ferociously what he's thinking.

Nathan leaves silently.

 

This time, when Warren tastes the smoke on his tongue, he feels sick to his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the fairly long Warren chapter! I hope this makes up for the lack of activity recently. I had to think about where I was going with this story. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.  
> I seem to be unable to write poetically and humorously at the same time, so chapters will tend to alternate in their style. 
> 
> Again, thank you for all your praise and feedback, it is indescribably helpful!


	5. Aggregation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Warren. I don't even know how to say this without sounding deranged but I...  
> Every so often when I close my eyes, I'm overcome with these terrible noises. They sound agonising as if... As... And then I begin to see something, it's difficult to make out as there's mud, rain and hail and my head pounds and my nose bleeds and the pain seems to obscure nearly everything...
> 
> But I think it's a tornado?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!<3  
> I know this fic has been out of action for almost a year and I'm terribly sorry for the lack of uploads. I had personal commitments, but now I'm in a better place I have decided to finish what I started. Hopefully there are still some of you interested in my completion of this fic. Comments and kudos are, as ever greatly appreciated and help me a great deal in determining how many of you are still interested in this fic's completion! :) 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely feedback so far! 
> 
> PP x

Warren had henceforth taken to avoiding Nathan Prescott at every turn.   
After the incident in the art classroom Warren had pretty much embraced tomato face as his natural complexion, and upon seeing a glimpse of Nathan's chocolate brown hair in the Blackwell dormitories Warren had turned and sprinted back inside his darkened room (sweltering in the August heat and musky after his pretty much non stop hibernation), as if his life had depended upon it.

The heat made him reminiscent of the fateful day just a week ago upon which Warren had decided to dedicate himself so deeply to understanding the inner workings of Nathan Prescott's mind. However, he noted that unlike that bright, breezy day in English class, the Oregon air was thick and scarce of oxygen, as if someone had a hand to Warren's throat and was gently squeezing.  
Threatening. All-consuming.  
Warren rather felt he was drowning.

Now his attempts seemed arrogant and unwanted.  
Warren reasoned however that the situation itself left much to be desired.   
He'd either watch Nathan come apart, or he'd go with him.

Warren thought it was even more disquieting how desperate he was to become mere collateral damage. 

His mind ran when he thought of Nathan, framed against the dusky atmosphere outside the Blackwell dorms, leaning against the large oak tree he seemed to be rather fond of. His posture, limp and supple, his lips cold and unyielding, yet charmingly illuminated by the sun which cast shadows that flitted across his face in motion. 

His mind raced when he recalled the incident, however much he'd tried to avoid thinking about it.  
Although it was not purposeful and truth be told nothing very much even happened between Nathan and the girl, Warren couldn't help feeling slightly salacious and voyeuristic at what he had seen.  
He could feel himself slowly descending into madness.  
But he was a sucker for mystery.  
He had to know the puppet master upon which Nathan's shadow was cast. A mere reflection of himself. Warren wanted to know, really know the boy before him. It was becoming an obsession. To consume every ounce of Nathan's pain, every trait, every desperate thought he had until nothing remained.  
But he would be free.  
The dull, haunted look would leave him.  
That nervous energy that pulsated from him would dissolve. He would be beautiful in his salvation.  
And Warren thought he was falling in love.

Shit.

It was this uneasy thought which spurred him to action.

-

As much as he felt burdensome towards Max most of the time and had decided to give her some space to settle into life at Blackwell, (goodness knows he had needed it)! Warren decided that he missed her reasoned judgements and quiet authority, even if she had only recently become a presence in his life. She had a gift of making Warren feel less like he was going to explode into a million anxious pieces, and it was her quiet control that had first endeared him to Max, although his feelings before had been decidedly less platonic.   
This is precisely why Warren worried as much as he did when Max, upon his invitation for lunch at the Two Whales Diner, turned up with her eyes red and puffy and a lopsided smile which looked as if were going to twist into a tearful grimace at any moment. 

"Hey Warren." She gave a watery smile and her tone was dejected, yet thankfully composed.

"Max! Are you alright? Damn, I wanted your wisdom and moral support!" 

He joked, and yet he was serious. He knew he looked like death warmed over, and Max observant as she is, would most likely notice. They laughed at each other and the comforting shared empathy that one could only experience when you knew the other person felt just as fragile as you, was overpowering. To his horror he felt a choked noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob threaten to ascend from his throat, and he caught himself before he crumbled.

Breathed. 

Composed himself.

Max seemed grateful for the strength that was shared between them as she tentatively smiled. A piece of toast, half-heartedly buttered was offered in his direction, seized from the tray of food upon the table, that Warren had ordered. 

"Want to join the pity party? We have comfort food!" She inquired, the toast shaking emphatically as she gestured towards him.

Warren's brow furrowed slightly in reference to Max's use of "we", however he decided to let her explain before he bombarded her with questions.

"Certainly. You go first..." He grabbed the toast, and slathered it generously in marmalade.

-

"...So I tampered with the bucket of paint and it fell right next her Gucci shoes! She was covered in it!" Max barely suppressed a snort.

"Max Caulfield you are a dangerous woman."   
After many a helping of toast and a myriad of assorted condiments, Max and Warren both seemed slightly more content.   
Warren was just about to breach the question of why she had appeared so tearful at first, when her mouth seemed to tighten and her eyes fixated an intense stare in his direction. It was then that he realised the severity of Max's plight.

"Warren. I don't even know how to say this without sounding deranged but I...  
Every so often when I close my eyes, I'm overcome with these terrible noises. They sound agonising as if... As... And then I begin to see something, it's difficult to make out as there's mud, rain and hail and my head pounds and my nose bleeds and the pain seems to obscure nearly everything...  
But I think it's a tornado?

Warren I think I'm going crazy.

I...I feel like it's haunting me and-" Warren's heart aches as she gives a soft cry. Her head droops into her arms, fragile and shaking. Warren reels. His mind is racing and he tries to say something but everything seems almost inadequate and all he knows is-

"Max." He takes her hand in his and squeezes it gently.

"You're not going crazy! You're the most sensible, sane person I've ever met. If you've lost your sanity, what hope is there for the rest of us?"  
Warren smiles and relinquishes his hold on her hand with one last hopeful grip. Immediately Warren feels struck with a sense of guilt at his own qualms, seemingly trivial compared to Max's. Although he too seems to be losing his marbles, albeit at a slower rate. Perhaps there's something in the air...  
Arcadia Bay is a strange town.

"We'll work this out Max! Can you tell me more?"

"Well I met up with an old friend, Chloe, and suddenly I started to feel incredibly ill and dizzy, so I explained to her what I've just told you... It was here that we met, in fact! You know Joyce who works at the diner?"   
Warren gives a nod and looks around to see if she's working today, she's not.   
"That's her mom."

"It was weird seeing Chloe again. I've missed her." At this a blush tints Max's tanned cheeks, however Warren doesn't question it.

"She seemed more concerned with Nathan Prescott, but Chloe thinks my episode may have something to do with Chaos theory!"   
Warren's heart gives a traitorous flutter in his chest and before he can stop himself he blurts out  
"He was in the art classroom!".

Max gives him a quizzical look. "Huh? Who was?"  
Warren flushes crimson.

"Er... Never mind. You said something about Chaos theory. But... There's no way you could know that. That's the whole point of Chaos Theory. Tiny, almost imperceptible changes to a system's initial environment having astronomical effects. You would need to be certain that such dramatic changes were even taking place to even entertain the small possibility-"

"What if I told you that we knew such changes were occurring...  
Big changes."

He stared at her.   
Max tried to level his gaze, but tiny points of colour were appearing in blotches across her face. She looked sheepishly at him.  
Although Warren was almost certain she was withholding information from him, he decided not to push it right now.

"Alright! Say there were... Changes, taking place. I'd still think it wise to err on the side of caution. I wouldn't be quick to define every peculiar event that occurs as inherently chaotic. However random the events, they are part of cause and effect."

"Max it would help if you could tell-"

"You say you saw Nathan Prescott in the art room? When?"

Warren blinks at the change of subject. He blushes.  
He knows this is nothing more than slight revenge for his appeal for Max to tell him all she knew. She too, had sensed his reluctance for disclosure. Warren sighs. He supposed that he has secrets too.

Warren thought rapidly. He was certainly not about to reveal his accidental voyeurism to Max just yet, furthermore his strange infatuation or (dear god) love for Nathan Prescott. Especially as Warren's appearance in the science rooms in the middle of night would also have to be explained. Ms Grant had, after all sworn him to secrecy.

"A few days ago I saw him. We were the last ones in the boys' locker room and he pulled out these crumpled up notes from his pockets.   
There had to have been about fifty of them. It was very weird...  
He looked really shifty too. When he saw that I'd noticed, he picked a fight with me. It seemed in hindsight, like a diversionary tactic."

Max looked curiously at him. She seemed about to say something but then her expression changed to one of long-suffering.

"Ugh, I have to get to class. Thanks for breakfast! We'll talk later." She kissed him on the cheek, their newfound alliance seemed to have increased her trust in him and Warren felt flattered. He had really grown to admire Max.  
"I'll do some research into Chaos theory. Max. You're not crazy, we'll figure this out." Max smiled gratefully. 

"You might wanna keep a close eye on Nathan Prescott". She whispered to him as she left, the door of the Two Whales diner swinging rhythmically in her wake as she walked up to the school bus.  
Warren almost laughed aloud at the irony. 

As if he even needed an excuse.

**Author's Note:**

> um i wrote a thing last night because i love my problematic fav. it’s a character study (sorta inspired by harry potter and his obsessive dracowatching in sixth year hbp) from warren’s point of view with hints of grahamscott bc i just cant resist the shipping train. i think i might continue this? (forgive me if its bad :c)!
> 
> Update: I decided to post this to my ao3 as well as tumblr as I'm still hurting over polarized and nathan prescott in general, and needed to revive some grahamscott so enjoy! I will most likely continue this. Comments and Kudos are appreciated none the less.:)


End file.
